Ever since the day a drunken Lord Carrisworth had brought Roxanna to the townhouse, she had been waiting for him to make her another offer of protection. No proposition had been made.
To make matters worse, her current benefactor, Rupert, the Duke of Covington, had learned of her presence with Carrisworth at Vauxhall and had given her her marching orders. Boldly, Roxanna planned to present herself on Perry’s doorstep and use her charms to orchestrate her way back into her position as his mistress.
Tapping a long nail on the seat beside her, Roxanna decided her situation was desperate. Forgetting that Lord Carrisworth had dismissed her as his mistress long before he had met Verity, Roxanna viewed that Perry was too involved with the oh-so-innocent Miss Pymbroke to see he could have her, Roxanna, back in his bed.
And that meant Miss Pymbroke was an obstacle that would have to be removed once and for all.
Chapter Ten
Lady Iris was coming down the stairs from the drawing room where, with the aid of a fresh plate of pastries, she had finally succeeded in comforting Lady Hyacinth. She was startled when the front door swung open and a pale and shaking Verity hurried inside.
The older lady stopped on the bottom step. “Zounds! What the devil—”
Lady Iris broke off as Verity covered the distance between them, hurled herself into her arms, and burst into tears. Her ladyship reached up to keep her high white wig from flying off her head and then hugged her young friend. “’Tis Carrisworth, I’ll wager.”
Verity sobbed harder.
“Come, gel. Let’s go up to your room away from the eyes of the servants and you can tell me all about it.” Lady Iris linked her arm with Verity’s, and they climbed the stairs, her ladyship muttering under her breath the entire way. “I feared the handsome ass would do something stupid. He’s led a rackety sort of life ... not accustomed to dealing with a young miss of virtue . . .”
At last, they gained Verity’s bedchamber. Lady Iris dipped a handkerchief into a bowl of cool water and then sat down on the bed next to the girl. She gently patted Verity’s tears away with the cloth and said, “What is this foolishness?”
The events of the morning tumbled from Verity’s lips.
Lady Iris listened until the girl finished. Then she took a deep breath and asked, “Do you love Lord Carrisworth?”
Verity looked away from her ladyship’s intelligent gaze. A moment passed before she whispered, “Yes. But it cannot signify.”
Lady Iris scoffed at this reply. “His mother and your father running away together can mean nothing to your future with the marquess. And if you’re thinking in terms of loyalty to your Mama, you’re a fool. You were a good, devoted daughter, and I know she loved you. But I tell you where her husband was concerned she was a weak, silly thing who would never have been able to hold any man’s interest.”
Verity remembered how her mother had spent most of her life after the viscount’s desertion lying on the morning room sofa, the epitome of the invalid. She had allowed her daughter to take over the running of the household as soon as Verity was old enough. Still, Verity deemed any deficiency on her mother’s part not relevant to the present insupportable position she found herself in with the marquess.
Turning to face Lady Iris, she pursed her lips and then confided, “My lady, people might find out eventually about the undesirable connection and then the tale-bearers—
Lady Iris let out an exasperated snort. “Cut line and give over, Verity. Society will always find someone to talk about. If one is the current subject of tittle-tattle, one simply holds one’s head high and pays no attention.”
Verity made as if to protest, but Lady Iris took both her hands in hers and squeezed them. “No, gel. You are being overly sensitive about what is proper. Idle gossip cannot matter. Unless I miss my guess, which I rarely do, Carrisworth is on the verge of offering for you. He will settle down—rakes make the best of husbands don’t you know—and the two of you will rub along well together. Don’t throw away a chance at happiness.”
Mixed feelings overwhelmed Verity’s thoughts. At length she blurted, “The marquess said he had a great affection for me. But he never said he loved me!”
“What! Of all the paper-skulled, beef-witted ...” A martial light came into Lady Iris’s eyes. “Well, that is really beyond all bearing! But Perry will realize his error and come to you. Mark my words. He’s most likely suffering as much as you are right now—and it serves him right too. In the meantime you must regain your composure. Rest here for a while, gel.”
Lady Iris helped Verity out of her gown and settled her into bed. “After the ball last night, we are bound to have callers this afternoon. I’ll send Betty up in an hour to help you dress. You think on what I’ve said.”
The older lady softly closed the door behind her, leaving Verity to her disordered thoughts. Was Lady Iris right? Did Lord Carrisworth want her as his wife? A sudden vision of his lordship’s naked chest as she had seen it that day in the bath appeared in her mind’s eye, and she experienced a rush of warmth. She relived the feelings his kiss had called forth at the Tremaines’ ball and groaned.
She lay on the bed twisting and turning in her agitation. In this instance doing what was proper—terminating the intimate side of her relationship with Lord Carrisworth—had not brought about the usual feelings of gratification. Why?
Could it be that her feelings for his lordship were much more significant than her sense of what might be virtuous behavior? Was the real source of her pain that the marquess had not declared himself?
Lady Iris had not drawn the curtains around the bed. Out of the corner of her eye Verity caught a flash of golden light coming from her dressing table. She eased off the bed and crossed the room. The topaz eardrops the marquess had given her lay shimmering in the light.
Verity slowly picked them up, feeling a burning behind her eyes. Tears threatened but she held them back and walked over to her desk, pulling out a sheet of paper. The jewelry must be returned to the marquess at once.
If only she could ask him to return her heart.
* * * *
Meanwhile, next door, the Marquess of Carrisworth was growing steadily drunk. Seated in the large leather chair behind the desk in his library, his lordship stripped off his coat, tossed it onto the floor, and reached yet again for the brandy decanter.
Mr. Wetherall watched the expensive garment crumple in an untidy heap and then glared at his master, his left eye twitching. “You allowed dear Miss Pymbroke to leave this house quite upset,” he scolded. “I saw her from the upstairs landing.”
Lord Carrisworth took a long drink of the liquid before turning a haughty eye on his valet. “You forget your place.”
Mr. Wetherall’s sparse frame stiffened. “And you choose to ignore yours. You should be on one knee in front of that sweet, pretty miss, asking for her hand instead of drowning your fears in drink.”
“Fears!” The marquess rose angrily to his feet.
Mr. Wetherall did not give one inch. Staring straight at his employer, the valet’s eye convulsed at the enormous lapse in the conventions he was making by confronting the young peer. However, the valet had rarely held his tongue when it came to serious matters. “Yes. You are afraid to tell her you love her. Afraid she’ll reject you.”
Lord Carrisworth opened his mouth prepared to give the impertinent old man a blistering set-down, devil take the number of years he had been in his service, when a scratching sound preceded the entrance of Digby. “The Earl of Northbridge has called, my lord.”
“I am not at home.”
The butler turned to leave, and Mr. Wetherall followed him out, but not before saying in a quiet voice that only just reached Lord Carrisworth’s ears, “You mean you are not in your right mind. Mayhap the earl can set you straight. I’ll send him in here directly.”
Fortunately, Mr. Wetherall made it through the door before he could be subjected to a string of oaths that surely would have set his elderly ears aflame.
<
br /> A moment later, the Earl of Northbridge entered the room. Taking in his friend’s condition, he demanded an explanation. “Perry, what the devil is going on?”
“Just having a drink, Charles,” he answered, returning to his chair. “Care to join me?”
The earl sat down across from him and studied his friend, deciding to tread slowly. “I accept. After all, I have something to celebrate. Gloria and I found out this morning she is increasing. Excellent is smarter than that physician who told us no heir was on the way. Hah! She insisted we consult another doctor, and she was right.”
Perry’s mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. He poured Charles a brandy and passed it to him. “Congratulations,” he drawled. “It will be quite a sight to see you with some drooling brat hanging on to your sleeve.”
Charles ignored the sarcasm. He could not remember ever seeing his friend so sunk in gloom. Several minutes of silence passed before Lord Northbridge spoke in a low voice, “Why don’t you marry Miss Pymbroke, Perry? You shall not be happy until you do, you know.”
The marquess’s hand, in the act of reaching for another drink, stilled, and he stared into the earl’s eyes. The genuine concern he saw there and the long years of their friendship forced him to pause before giving some cock-and-bull tale.
Good God, was it obvious to everyone he had formed a lasting passion for the chit? Perry rested his elbows on the polished wood surface of the desk while he ran his hands through his dark hair.
At last he said, “I fear she would not have me, Charles.” The minute the words left his tongue, Lord Carrisworth knew them to be the absolute truth. He wanted with Verity what Charles had with Gloria. Nothing short of that would do, and that meant marriage.
Lord Northbridge leaned forward in his chair. “Did you ask her?”
“No.”
A puzzled frown appeared between the earl’s brows. “Then how can you know she would refuse you?”
Drawing in a deep breath, Lord Carrisworth outlined the morning’s events ending with, “She values her notions of propriety more than me. Declared our relationship was nothing more than tenant and landlady.”
The earl had given his total concentration to his friend’s story. Now he sat rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Perry, did you tell Miss Pymbroke that you love her?”
Lord Carrisworth had the grace to look ashamed. “I only realized it myself this morning. Dam it, Charles, I am so used to hiding my true feelings I stumbled over the words and instead spouted some blather about holding her in affection,”
“Ah.” Lord Northbridge nodded wisely. “That’s it then, Perry. Females can be deucedly particular about hearing those words.”
Lord Carrisworth considered his friend’s suggestion. “Maybe you have the right of it, Charles.”
The earl stood and leaned over to clap Perry on the shoulder. “Courage, old man ... but, er, enough of the Dutch kind.” He made to take his leave, eager to return to Gloria, but at the door turned for a moment to inquire about a subject that had been perplexing him since his return to Town. “Perry, about the twins ... did you ever. . .”
Lord Carrisworth waved a hand. “Do not be ridiculous, Charles. You cannot imagine a pair of more tiresome children.”
Lord Northbridge let out his booming laugh and closed the door behind him.
After his friend’s departure, Perry sat back in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. He experienced a nagging anxiety that the proper Miss Pymbroke would cling resolutely to her convictions. But could Charles be right? Had he only to tell Verity he loved her? At the thought of her smiling on him and holding her arms out in welcome, the marquess felt all the tension drain out of him.
The library door opened, and Mr. Wetherall entered. He folded his arms across his chest expectantly and stared impudently at his employer.
“I require a pot of strong coffee and a hot bath to be brought to my bedchamber immediately,” his lordship commanded.
The valet’s wrinkled face broke into a grin.
* * * *
Outside, Lord Davies sat in a closed carriage a short distance from Lady Iris’s townhouse. He was biting his nails and mentally cursing Roxanna Rollings. He should have been on the road to Ramsgate by now before his creditors caught up with him. Why should he stoop to follow that whore’s bidding?
Money. A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. That was why he had been waiting for some opportunity to present itself that would enable him to carry out Roxanna’s latest plan.
The actress had come to his lodgings earlier in the day. “You poor dear man,” she had cooed. “Everyone has quite turned against you since that unfortunate incident at Brook’s. No doubt with an accusation of cheating at cards hanging over your head, not to mention the duns on your doorstep, you will find a sojourn to the continent beneficial.”
The baron turned a cold eye on the actress. “State your business, madam. As you can see from the condition of these rooms, I am preparing for a journey. Ramsgate is a distance away, and I wish to quit London immediately.”
Roxanna’s lips curled. “You might find having a companion on the long trip advantageous.”
Lord Davies’s brows drew together. “What can you mean?”
Roxanna took a turn about the room before answering him. “Verity Pymbroke continues to be a hindrance to my wishes. I want you to ruin her once and for all. Take her with you as far as—Ramsgate was it? Then, before you board ship, simply desert her. She’ll have been away overnight and be well and truly compromised. You will be long gone before she returns to London—if she manages to safely return—and will suffer no consequence. On the contrary, a very large purse will add to your comfort during your exile.”
Lord Davies appeared to consider this for a moment. “How do I know I will get my money?”
Roxanna shook her finger at the baron. “Tut. Tut. Don’t you trust me? Well, as it turns out I don’t trust you either. That is why my coachman will be driving you. He does not know the contents of the package he carries is money, only that he is to give it to you after your mission is completed.”
Lord Davies’s lips twisted. “Are you so desperate to have Carrisworth back in your bed? Is not the duke’s protection enough for you?”
Roxanna had quickly looked away, and the baron had decided not to question her further. It was enough for him that he would be receiving a large sum of money for the small trouble of taking Miss Pymbroke along with him for part of his journey.
They had settled the details in a brisk, businesslike manner. All except one point. How was he to get the chit into the vehicle? She certainly was not going to come willingly after that scene at Vauxhall where he had kissed her in front of the marquess.
Lord Davies sat brooding over the possibilities, all the while thinking of the pistol that rested comfortingly in the pocket of his lemon yellow coat.
* * * *
Unaware of the danger that lurked outside, Verity welcomed Gloria, Countess of Northbridge, into the drawing room. Lady Iris stayed only long enough to exchange pleasantries with the countess. She sensed that Verity might wish to confide in someone her own age and tactfully withdrew, leaving a sleepy Empress to climb into Verity’s lap. Lady Hyacinth was abovestairs napping after the morning’s ordeal of losing a beau to Louisa.
When Lady Iris left the room, Gloria crossed to sit next to Verity on the blue satin settee. “I am so happy for this opportunity to be private with you, Verity,” the countess said, her voice rich with excitement. “Charles and I called in another physician, and I am increasing after all.”
Verity experienced a moment of sheer envy. What if she were married and found herself in the same interesting condition? Would the babe have Lord Carrisworth’s green eyes or her brown?
Calling herself severely to task for such fanciful thoughts. Verity stroked Empress’s soft silver fur. “I am so very happy for you and Charles, Gloria. Truly the child will be blessed to have you and the earl as parents. I have never seen a couple more in love.
”
“Thank you,” the countess responded, her face positively glowing. But, as Gloria was ever sensitive to the feelings of others, she had noticed the slight puffiness around Verity’s eyes.
Charles had come home and told her the events of the morning as related by Perry. Gloria was determined to nudge Verity’s thoughts to a more positive direction where the marquess was concerned without letting her know she was privy to their problems.
Therefore, the two chatted innocuously about the Tremaines’ ball while munching on cakes and drinking tea until Gloria rose to take her leave. “Verity, dearest, I hope you will not think me presumptuous—no,” the countess interrupted herself, “I shan’t care if you do think me so. I must tell you how delighted I was last night to see you and Perry together.”
Standing next to Gloria with Empress cradled in her arms, Verity lowered her gaze to the ring of white fur on the top of Empress’s head. She scratched the cat’s ears bringing a purring sound into the quiet drawing room. “I am afraid being with the marquess in the intimate manner you found us was a mistake, Gloria. There is no future for him and me.”
The countess tilted her head in an inquiring manner. “Verity,” she said gently, “be very sure before you come to such a conclusion. As one who has enjoyed all the wonders of a love match, I beg you to consider your decision carefully. I know Perry has cultivated the reputation of a rake, but I also know him to be an honorable man.”
“I see,” Verity said noncommittally, and Gloria picked up her reticule.
The two walked through the hall, the countess pensive. Finally, she chuckled and whispered, “For example, Verity, did you know that wicked man thoroughly enjoyed having the entire ton believe those two French girls were his mistresses.”
Wide-eyed, Verity whispered back. “You mean, they really were not?”
Gloria giggled. “No! In point of fact Perry only put them under his protection out of pity. It seems two elderly roués were after them. Oh, but my dear,” the countess gasped, raising her gloved hand halfway to her lips, “Perry would be mortified if the truth got around. For some reason, he favors keeping people at a distance, and his reputation certainly accomplishes that.”
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